Missing Pieces
by annonwrite
Summary: Stanford AU. Sam's nightmares about Jess turn into visions. He's falling apart. Dean returns to Stanford to pick up the pieces. Takes place after "Puzzle Pieces" and "Broken Pieces." Panic attacks, anxiety, visions. Lots of angsty, hurting Sam, Jess, and worried Dean.


AN: This takes place after "Puzzle Pieces" and "Broken Pieces." If you haven't read those, this is a pre-series AU where Sam's nightmares about Jess led to panic attacks. Dean went to Stanford to try to help, but now things are getting worse…

Thank you for reading. Enjoy!

Missing Pieces

"Hello?" Dean says, phone pressed to his ear.

"Hey, Dean. It's Jess."

Those four innocent words are enough to trigger a Pavlovian response, making Dean's gut sink and his pulse race. "Jess. Everything okay?"

"Not really."

Dean wishes he was surprised. "What's going on?"

"Sam's in the hospital."

"Is he okay?"

The pause is just long enough for Jess to bite her lip. "Physically, yes." _Mentally, no_. "Can you get here?"

Dean scuffs his boot against the sidewalk. "The drive's going to take me a few hours. I'll leave now."

"Good."

"See you when I get there?"

"Bye, Dean."

He's 100 miles into the drive before he realizes her response wasn't an answer to his question.

* * *

"I'm here to see Sam Winchester."

The woman smiles as she types something into her computer, writes a room number on a visitor's pass and points him in the direction of the elevator. She continues smiling while saying, "Head up to the 3rd floor. Stop by the desk and someone will let you in."

Dean's face hurts just looking at her. "Thanks."

The smile grows. "You're welcome, honey."

He's so distracted by the woman's chipper demeanor that he's on the elevator before zeroing in on a few of her words: _someone will let you in_. Sammy landed himself on a locked ward. Shit.

The woman at the 3rd floor desk is the opposite of chipper. "Samuel's doctor would like to speak to you before allowing visitation. I'll let him know you're here." She flicks a hand in the direction of a small conference room near the desk. "You can wait in there."

"How long will it be?"

She rolls her eyes. "I'm a receptionist, not a fortune teller."

Dean swallows a comment about shoving fortunes where the sun don't shine. "Will you tell his doctor that I drove a long way? And that I'm really worried about my brother?"

"I'll get right on that," she says, but the tone makes the words sound more like _don't hold your fucking breath_.

Sure enough, Dean paces from one end of the conference room to the other for an hour before a doctor bustles into the room, papers fluttering, white coat billowing.

"You must be Samuel's brother." He shifts papers to free up a hand, extends it, and says, "I'm Dr. Kaiser. Samuel's physician. I hope you haven't been waiting long."

"Dean. Winchester. Is Sam okay?"

Dr. Kaiser takes a seat at the table, and Dean follows his lead. "How much do you know about your brother's condition?"

"I know he has panic attacks. We took him to the ER once before we knew what they were. I know he takes medication to help the anxiety. His girlfriend called me a few hours ago and told me he was here. That's all I know."

"Does Sam or anyone else in your family have a history of hallucinations?"

The room suddenly feels hot and cold. "Hallucinations?"

Dr. Kaiser looks up from Sam's chart. "Yes. Seeing things that aren't there? Hearing voices? Schizophrenia? Anything like that?"

But Dean can't answer the question. "Sam had a hallucination?"

Sympathy softens the doctor's expression. "I'm sorry. I thought you knew. That's why Sam was brought in. He was seeing things that weren't there. People on the ceiling. Some sort of fire."

"Nightmares?"

"While he was awake."

Dean feels sick. He clears his throat once. Twice. "No. There's no history of hallucinations or anything."

"Good. We think it might just be a reaction to the anxiety medication he was on. We've taken him off that and put him on something new. Might clear the whole thing up."

Somehow Dean gets the feeling that's not true, but he nods anyway. "Is he still having panic attacks?"

"He was agitated from the hallucination when he was brought in. He's been sedated ever since. So, no. No panic attacks."

It's something, which is good because Dean needs something to cling to. "Can I see him?"

Dr. Kaiser smiles and stands. "Follow me."

* * *

Dean notices three things as soon as he walks in the room:

1. The pulse-ox cord is wrapped around Sam's arm.

2. The sheet is tangled up in Sam's long legs.

3. Jess isn't here.

"Sam?" Dr. Kaiser says. "You have a visitor. Can you open your eyes for me?"

It takes a minute before Sam's eyes open. Bleary. Unfocused.

"There we go. You have a visitor, Sam. Do you know who this is?"

Sam's gaze winds its way from Dr. Kaiser to Dean. "Dean," he whispers. When he blinks, tears fill his eyes.

Dean swallows a knot the size of Texas in order to say, "Hey, Sammy."

"Right," Dr. Kaiser says. "And who is Dean?"

"My brother. Dean, where's Jess?"

It hurts to admit that he doesn't know. "Maybe she has class tonight?"

Sam blinks long and heavy. Effects of the sedation. "Go check. Make sure she's okay."

"Sam," Dr. Kaiser says, "we've talked about this. Jess is okay. She wasn't in a fire, remember? It wasn't real."

"I forget," Sam says.

And maybe Dr. Kaiser misses the way Sam looks up at the ceiling when he says it, but Dean doesn't.

"That's okay. We'll keep reminding you until you start feeling better. How are you feeling now, Sam?"

"My head hurts."

Dean's attention whips to Dr. Kaiser because it must be one hell of a headache in order for Sam to mention it, and even though Dean doesn't know much about hallucinations, he doesn't think headaches are a side effect. "Is that normal?"

Dr. Kaiser checks Sam's pulse and oxygen levels. "It might be a result of changing the medication." He takes a pen light out of his pocket and checks Sam's pupils. "Everything looks okay." The pen light goes back in its place. "I'll prescribe something for the pain. A nurse will be in with it soon."

"Thank you," Dean says.

"You're welcome. I'll let you two catch up."

Then the brothers are alone.

"Dean," Sam whispers. "You gotta call Jess. Please."

Dean unwraps the pulse-ox cord from Sam's arm. He straightens the sheet and pulls it up to Sam's waist, smoothing out the wrinkles. Then he pulls a chair up close to the bed and takes a seat. "Tell me what happened, Sam."

Sam's eyelids are weighted down as he speaks. "I had the same nightmare. Jess burning on the ceiling. Like mom. But it wasn't at night. I was awake. I think I freaked out. Jess must have called 911. They brought me here."

"Shit."

"You haven't found anything? Figured out what this is? A way to stop it?"

Dean looks at the ground. "Sorry, Sammy. Nothing yet."

"You've got to go check on her." Sam's voice is tired and tense and full of tears. "Please, Dean. Jess isn't here. You've gotta make sure she's all right. Safe."

There's a knock at the door, and a nurse walks in with a white paper cup. "Sam? I've got some medication to help with your headache."

Sam's eyes plead with Dean as he swallows the pill with a sip of water.

The nurse smiles as she takes the cup. "Let me know if you need anything else, okay?"

"Thanks," Dean says. Once they're alone, he pulls the phone from his pocket. "I'll go call Jess."

Sam nods. "Okay."

The hallway is quiet like only calm moments in the psychiatric ward can be. He dials Jess' number and listens to it ring once. Twice. Three times. Voice mail. He swears. Hangs up. Tries again. _Shit._

Sam is right. Jess has been by his side through everything. She should be here. But she's not even answering. Dean has to go to their apartment.

"She okay?" Sam asks upon Dean's return.

The way his eyes droop tells Dean that he's fighting a losing battle against the sedation. Dean sighs. "She might be at class. Or work. Or maybe her cell phone ran out of battery…" When Sam rolls onto his side, a tear slips down his cheek. Dean thumbs it away. "You going to be okay if I leave for a little while? Go check out your apartment?"

"I want to come with you," Sam whispers.

"I know you do. But look at how exhausted you are. Get some sleep. Get rid of that headache. I'll be back soon."

"Tell Jess…tell her…" Sam's voice fades into sleep.

Dean swallows hard and runs a hand through his brother's hair. "I'll tell her, Sammy."

* * *

There's no smoke.

As Dean approaches his destination, the sun is setting in a clear blue, smoke-free sky. It's beautiful, but terrifying at the same time.

Terrifying because Sam might be wrong. And if he's wrong, what does that say about his fragile sanity?

Terrifying because Sam might be right. And if he's right…

But the apartment is standing, exactly like the last time he was here. He takes a deep breath and knocks on the door. When there's no response, he knocks again, so hard that his knuckles sting and he thinks he should install a doorbell.

He slips a hand into his pocket and pulls out his phone. This time it doesn't even ring. Just jumps straight to, "Hey, it's Jessica. Sorry I missed your call…"

As he pockets the phone, he pulls out a set of keys. Dean has broken into a lot of places without a second thought. So why does using a key to get into his own brother's apartment feel so wrong?

He turns the key and opens the door. "Jess?" he calls. "It's Dean." One hand on his gun, he follows the low hum of a television to the living room. "Hey. Jess." He removes his hand from the gun. "I tried calling, but…"

She's sitting on the couch, blanket folded on her lap. She's not looking at him. Something about her posture is wrong.

It's like the start of a hunt, when he doesn't know what to be afraid of yet. He just knows that he should be afraid. "Jess?"

Then she looks up. Her eye is swollen shut. Her cheek is bruised. There's blood at the corner of her mouth.

"Holy shit," he says. And then he is afraid. "Did…Sam…did he…?"

The quiver in her lip is the answer to the question he can't ask.

A broken sob escapes her lungs and Dean is at her side, pulling her into his arms. She's trembling. Crying. He digs fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck and rubs her back and holds her close because Sam can't.

_Because Sam didn't._

It takes a long time before her tears slow, then stop.

When she speaks, her words are hoarse and heavy. "Is he okay?"

Dean releases her. With gentleness and care, he tucks her hair behind her ears so he can see the damage on her face and the pain in her eyes. "He's resting."

After a minute or two, she nods. "Good."

He gestures to her eye. "You should have ice on that."

She doesn't argue, so he heads into the kitchen. A picture of Sam and Jess is stuck to the fridge with a magnet in the shape of a pineapple. In the picture, the couple is holding each other and smiling like all is right with the world. _Beautiful, but terrifying_.

He returns to the living room with a wet washcloth and a towel filled with ice. He sits next to her as she puts the ice up to her eye.

"Thank you."

He uses the washcloth to wipe at the dried blood near her mouth. "Can you tell me what happened?"

Her lip quivers, but she nods. "He's been fine. A few panic attacks. A few nightmares. Sam's new version of fine. But today, something happened." She stops to take a shaky breath. "He was fine. Then all of a sudden, he grabbed his head. He got quiet. It looked like he was somewhere far away. Then he started screaming. He told me…" She winces when he puts too much pressure on her split lip.

"Sorry," he whispers. "Sorry. He told you what?"

"He told me the apartment was on fire. That he had to get me out. He grabbed me. I tried to stop him, but it was like he wasn't seeing or hearing me. Not really. He was a mess." She shivers. "I think his elbow hit me in the eye. When I got away, I called 911." Then her lip is trembling again. "I know he didn't mean to hurt me. Sam wouldn't do that. But I was so scared…"

She breaks off into another round of choked sobs. Dean pulls her to his chest. He's not sure if the wetness that seeps through his shirt is melting ice or tears. "I got you," he says. "That wasn't Sam, okay? You're right. He wouldn't do that. It wasn't Sam."

She pulls back so she can look him in the eye. Her voice is unsteady. "Then what was it?"

Dean rubs his thumb across soft skin on the back of her hand. "Doctors think it was a hallucination. A side effect of the anxiety medication."

She nods, but concern is still etched into her features. "And what do you think?"

Dean doesn't say anything.

Truth is, Dean doesn't know what to think.


End file.
